Untangled
by rslhilson
Summary: House discovers that Wilson and Cuddy have been more than just colleagues. Wilson/Cuddy and House/Wilson; rated M just in case. Spoiler details inside.


_Untangled_

**Spoilers: **Story includes spoilers for major events throughout the series, mostly for: _3x19: "Act Your Age," 4x16: "Wilson's Heart," 5x24: "Both Sides Now," and 8x02: "Transplant." _

* * *

><p>"Differential." House strode into Wilson's office, shutting the door behind him but not bothering to take a seat. "White male, 42 – "<p>

"Busy," Wilson muttered, not looking up from his paperwork. "Don't you have a team that you can annoy?"

"White male, 42," House repeated, not missing a beat. "Presents with a lame case of sarcasm, an ugly but endearing tie, and a bottle of children's Motrin and a teddy bear in his trunk."

Wilson's hand froze mid-signature. Carefully, he raised his eyes, silently calculating how many more seconds he had before House got tired of playing ring-around-the-bullshit.

"You broke into my car?" he said at last, wondering how much time the temporary deflection would buy him.

The answer appeared to be none. "Given the patient's lack of miniature snotty-nosed brats, case is clearly atypical," House continued. "Also no evidence of anything kinky going on – not that I'm not ruling it out. Ten bucks says the latest fad is a teddy bear fetish."

"House – "

"Differential diagnosis. Go."

Wilson's hand drifted to the bridge of his nose. "Has it occurred to you that it might be for a patient of mine?" he tried.

"New symptom: psychosis. Patient believes that _I'd _believe he couldn't find a pharmacy or gift shop within the confines of this hospital."

House's cane-twirling came to a stop, making Wilson jump as the rubber tip came into hard contact with the floor.

"The tag on the bear was addressed to Rachel," House said.

Brown eyes found it impossible to stray from the darkening blue. Wilson raised his head almost imperceptibly, confirming the impending accusation that he knew would be true.

"You're seeing Cuddy."

Wilson's head dipped once more, though his gaze never wavered. "Seeing her in the literal sense, yes. Congratulations on your diagnosis."

"The literal sense," House repeated.

"You know what I mean. I called this morning to see how she was doing, she said Rachel's sick and she's been having trouble finding a steady babysitter since she moved…I figured I'd drop by and help her out a little. That's all this is."

The chair in front of the desk inched outward, House deftly unhooking his ankle from one of its legs as he sat down. Wilson waited for a response, but decided that the ensuing silence was permission – or perhaps a demand – for him to continue.

"I picked up the Motrin and the bear on my lunch break," he explained. "I'm not the one who drove a car through her living room – I'm still her friend."

"Never said you couldn't be."

"So…you _don't_ have a problem with this?"

"What I have a problem with," House countered quietly, "is that you are, in fact, seeing Cuddy."

* * *

><p>The first time it happens, Wilson knows how wrong it is. Cuddy is his superior, they're both vulnerable, and House must be tangled up somewhere in the mix.<p>

But she's beautiful; no one can deny that. Luscious curls, a sumptuous body, the kind of smile that makes him forget about House and how wrong it is to be lying here – in bed – with her.

"We shouldn't," he says, but maybe he's actually said the opposite because she responds with a kiss, the perfect kind that leaves him breathless – defenseless.

"Just this once," she murmurs, her fingers toying with the stray curl that lies across his forehead. "I won't tell if you won't."

He probably shouldn't have let her have all those drinks, but she deserves to relax and honest, _honest, _when he saw the bar across from the theater all he'd wanted to do was sit and chat about the play. Cuddy's hands are starting to travel downwards, and in the sobriety he'd kept in order to drive, all he feels is the burden of responsibility.

But as she grips his semi-hard bulge through his pants, he's starting to feel a _lot_ more than that.

"Cuddy – "

"Just _once_," she urges, removing his belt before he can protest.

She has trouble yanking his pants off his ankles, and Wilson quickly moves to help her. He's never been one to turn down a damsel in distress.

* * *

><p>Wilson licked his lips, his mouth suddenly gone dry. He'd separated his purchases on the off chance his trunk wasn't safe from House's prying eyes, but he should have counted on the man being more thorough. "I'm assuming you broke into my glove compartment," he managed at last. "Remind me why you were going through my car, again?"<p>

"Wilson rounds," House said simply, as if it was the most logical explanation in the world. "I take all the follow-ups I'm supposed to be doing on patients, and I do them on you instead." He tossed the new box of condoms at Wilson, followed by the crumpled, all-inclusive receipt from the drug store. "Of course it's 'Her Pleasure,'" he scoffed, nodding toward the label on the box. "Always working to give a woman exactly what she wants – "

"House – "

" – just like the knight in shining armor that you are. Things never change."

"First of all," Wilson said, finally able to get a word in edgewise, "I haven't…been _seeing _Cuddy…for a couple of years now."

If House was surprised, he hid it well. "When did it start?" he asked calmly.

Wilson took a deep breath. "It was a long time ago," he said, vaguely wondering if he ought to say a prayer or sacrifice a lamb before he continued. "We saw that play that I invited her to, went to the bar afterwards, one thing led to another…"

It took a few moments for House to catch up, but when he did, small slits quickly turned into wide blue orbs. "I _knew _it! I – "

"No," Wilson corrected him gently. "Actually, you didn't."

House's stunned expression reverted back to a more familiar scowl. "You realize that you've reached my level of ass-hood for not telling me."

"Duly noted, although I _am _allowed to have my secrets from you. But we were never really together, not like that."

"Of course not – you just fucked each other's brains out, probably when you were supposed to be fucking someone _else's _brains out."

"The last time we did anything was before she dated Lucas," Wilson cut in quickly, needing no explanation for House's unsaid question about his own time spent with Cuddy. "And I had Amber, and Sam."

"So the fucking was limited."

"It was infrequent, yes."

"Once a week?" House guessed. "Once a month? That couldn't have been enough to satiate Little Jimmy's ravenous – "

"Try once a year."

House considered this for a few moments, eventually concluding his private musings with a snort. "James Evan Wilson, _faithful_ knight in shining armor. Talk about an atypical case."

* * *

><p>The second time it happens, Wilson can't stop crying.<p>

Cuddy is shushing him, trying to soothe him in the warm cocoon of her arms. But it's no use, because House is half-dead and Amber _is _dead; she died in his arms and now Cuddy is holding him, and it's wrong. It's wrong because Amber is dead, and House is half-dead because of him.

"It's okay," she's whispering into his ear, trying to pervade his tangled thoughts with murmurings of comfort. "It's okay, it's okay, you're okay."

This time he's the one who initiates, ending her words with a tongue-deep kiss that has her moaning into his mouth.

"Are you sure?" she's finally able to ask, her finger tracing a tender line along a tear running down his cheek.

It's wrong because Amber is dead, and House is half-dead. But Wilson isn't in House's arms or Amber's arms, he's in Cuddy's arms. And he's aching with grief, aching with Amber and House and _desire _and he knows that this is wrong, but _this_ _is all he knows_.

"Just this once," he whispers, pleading. His throat is raw from crying, and speaking takes effort.

Cuddy's sympathetic eyes make his own burn in shame, but she's not interested in talking any more than he is.

* * *

><p>House nodded again towards the box left haphazardly on the desk. "I guess tonight was going to be one of your <em>infrequent<em> nights."

Wilson shook his head. "I just wanted to be prepared."

"Right. She's home alone with a sick kid – funny, I would've _totally_ expected her new man to stick around with all of that baggage – and now she's calling her ex-fuck buddy to come and bring her kiddie meds with a condom on the side. Of course you'd need to be prepared; her neediness alone would make you come in your pants."

Wilson winced at House's last remark. "I called _her, _remember?"

Another snide comeback was poised at the tip of House's tongue, but in a moment it seemed to have vanished. "You're still lonely," he said instead, his matter-of-fact tone erasing all traces of his usual flippancy.

Wilson blinked. "What?"

"You're still lonely," House repeated, "with me."

"I'm not _with _you, I'm…" Wilson's voice trailed off as the realization hit him, and he frowned. "Don't tell me you feel like you're being cheated on."

"I said you're lonely," House replied calmly. "Don't deflect."

"Even if Cuddy and I were…_regulars_…you've made it explicitly clear what _you _and I are. And it's a 'very, very, _very _open arrangement,' if I recall your exact words."

"Maybe I wanted to change that."

Wilson snorted. "That's a laugh."

"It's laughable that I think we should try a little commitment? Oh, right, it's _you _I'm talking to."

Wilson's own flippancy began to fade. "I can't tell if you're being serious or if you're just jealous," he said.

"Why?" House shrugged. "You're the god of sex. Why should I have to share you?"

"This is exactly the problem," Wilson sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What?"

"_This. _What you want from me."

House jerked his head forward, prodding him. "Which is…?"

But Wilson only smiled sadly. "Nothing that you can't get from anyone else," he said, and returned to his paperwork.

* * *

><p>The third time it happens is the last.<p>

He'd been on his way back when Cuddy had called, just to ask if everything went okay. The next thing he knew he'd been pulling up to her house, pretending not to notice that she'd been looking for him out the window.

She asks if House made it in alright, and he asks about the wedding. Things are different now; she has a baby and he's afraid that they'll make too much noise. But Rachel is napping, she assures him, and they may as well be alone.

_Alone. _It's exactly how he feels with House where he is, in the state that he's in.

"He'll be okay," Cuddy says softly. "Mayfield is the best there is." Their limbs are tangled on the sofa, her head on his shoulder and his hand on her knee. He begins to rub her leg, gently moving his hand along her thigh and almost hoping to feel the outlines of a scar beneath his fingertips.

"We can't be doing this," he says at last, breaking the quiet. "If he knew – "

"But he doesn't," she whispers back, and Wilson still doesn't have a counterargument for that.

Before long, his fingers stray to the buttons along her chest. "Just one last time," he murmurs, revealing the luxurious flesh beneath the creases of her shirt as Cuddy pulls him in.

And when she can't tip him over the edge, he only has to imagine that she's _him_.

* * *

><p>House quietly watched Wilson work, never moving and probably not even blinking. At length Wilson gave in, knowing that he'd never succeed in ignoring House forever, and looked up again.<p>

"You can go, you know."

House nodded in agreement. "I could."

"And yet you're still here," Wilson pointed out.

"I'm still here because you're wrong."

Wilson pursed his lips in frustration, but he placed his pen down before leaning back and crossing his arms. "Go on, then."

"You're wrong," House explained smoothly, "because what I get from you, I _can't _get from anyone else. And I am not just talking about the best blow job known to man."

"Really," Wilson countered flatly. "Because it seems to me that that's _exactly _what you're talking about."

"Talented as your tongue may be, it's not always about the sex."

"Right," Wilson snorted.

House leaned forward unexpectedly, cradling the top of his cane in his hands and resting his chin above them. "Wilson," he said evenly.

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Yes, House?"

"I'm only going to say this once."

"…Okay."

"I _L Word _you."

Wilson's eyebrows never made it back down to earth. "What?"

House leaned back in his seat again. "I told you I was only going to say it once."

"You…_L Word _me."

"And regardless of the state of your tongue and Little Jimmy…that will always be true."

Suddenly, Wilson began to laugh, and House frowned at his reaction.

"Did I say something funny?"

"House…we've known each other for, what, almost 25 years now? And you've been a complete pain in the ass the entire time."

"Uh huh," House agreed tentatively, unsure where Wilson was going but not about to argue with that last bit.

"And suddenly we decide to – to take our relationship to the next level, as it were – and you tell me that it's purely a _physical_ arrangement. So here I am, letting you fuck me and whoever your hookers-of-the-week are, and the _one_ night you suspect me of going to a woman of my own, what do you do?" Wilson paused to chuckle again, shaking his head. "You tell me that you _L Word _me."

House didn't so much as flinch as Wilson continued his mirthless laughter. "You idiot," he said.

"What?" Wilson asked, taking a sip of water to steady himself. "You want to tell me what an idiot I've been this entire time? That ship has sailed, House. I'm well-aware that I'm a complete moron."

"I told you that it was an open relationship for _your _sake."

Wilson paused, slowly bringing the mug down from his lips. "I don't understand," he said at last. "You mean…"

"You're the only hooker-of-the-week I've had since our first bedroom escapade."

"But…why?"

House shrugged. "I didn't think I'd be enough for you."

A shadow of understanding crossed Wilson's eyes, with a slight touch of relief glimmering in their depths. "Twenty-five years of being your friend," Wilson murmured, "and it never occurred to you that you would be enough for me."

"Why would it? There were always others – "

" – who came and went. You are the biggest pain in the ass who's ever walked into my life, House, and I'm still here. Some genius you are."

House, considering this, surprised Wilson with a small smile. "Go," he said.

"What?"

"Go. Cuddy's expecting you."

Wilson furrowed his brow, and House gave an exaggerated sigh at his lack of immediate comprehension.

"Ex-fuck buddy or not, you're still her friend and she's still got a sick kid on her hands. Just leave the condoms with me – I've got a prank brewing for Chase and Park."

"But – "

"And _after_ you do your friend duty," House continued, "you're going to come back here and we're going to go out to dinner."

Wilson's eyebrows moved upwards this time. "Like a date," he said slowly, still in a state of slight incredulity.

"A date for which you're paying," House amended, "but yes, like a date."

Wilson supposed that was the natural order of things. "And…after that?"

House shrugged. "After that, we go home, get comfy on the couch…"

"And I give you the best blow job known to man."

"Actually, I was thinking we could just watch _The L Word_."

Wilson couldn't help but smile. "That sounds nice."

House nodded. "Of course," he continued as he stood to head out, "the evening doesn't have to end there."

"Oh?"

"Because when the show's over, _I'm _giving _you_ the best blow job known to man."

Wilson chuckled. "I'll call you when I'm on my way back."

"It's a date," House agreed with a smile of his own, and opened the door.

* * *

><p>The first time it happens, Wilson isn't sure what to think.<p>

It was never _supposed_ to have happened. He'd brought over the steaks and merely intended to catch up with an old friend over dinner, but House has a way of making sure that nothing ever goes as planned. Wilson replays the night in his head, how leaning over with an ice pack to nurse the bruise he'd caused had somehow led to leaning into House's mouth, and how all of it had somehow led to _this._

They've each just experienced the most intense orgasm of their lives, and now neither seems to know what to say about it.

House is eventually the first to speak, resurfacing from his post-coital bliss. "You," he concludes, "are a sex _god_."

"You're not so bad yourself," Wilson replies, relieved at the break in silence.

"Good thing you chose the punch-me-in-the-face option instead of the kick-me-in-the-nuts option, or it wouldn't have been as fun down there." House turns onto his side to face him, growing slightly more serious. "This doesn't mean we have to be…"

His voice trails off expectantly, and Wilson tries not to let his expression waver. "We're not a couple, you mean," he finishes for him.

"The labels are arbitrary. My point is, this is going to be a very, very, _very _open arrangement."

House waits for a response, but when it doesn't come, he continues.

"We'll still be the same old buddies – just with benefits – and we can still have all the fish in the wide open sea. Sound fair to you, oh Lord of the Bedroom?"

It sounds like shit to Wilson, actually. Sure, they'll suck each other until they see stars and fuck each other until they see God, but that's all it'll ever be.

"Sounds fine," he mumbles anyway, and turns around to face the wall.

"The Lord of the Bedroom's been worn out by a cripple," House muses. "I sense a coup in the works."

Wilson remains quiet, still too overwhelmed to do anything but surrender. He finally has more of House than he's ever dreamed of having, and for the first time he knows that it won't be enough. The sound of rattling pills interrupts his thoughts and he closes his eyes, muttering something that sounds like "Good night" so he can mentally prepare himself for a future of incredible sex and agonizing loneliness.

Sleep comes quickly, and as he falls into darkness he wonders how long it'll be before he gives Cuddy a call.

* * *

><p><em>Fin<em>


End file.
